Inborn Page 3

  Yngve didn’t reply. He simply closed the door and addressed Tic-Tac: ‘You didn’t tell me about your door.’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘The door on the other side of the school.’

  ‘Oh. That.’

  He laughed nervously. ‘I didn’t think to mention that.’

  ‘Really. Is it connected to the alarm system?’

  ‘Um, no.’

  ‘So … when I asked you about other exit possibilities, you didn’t think to mention a door you probably use on a daily basis?’

  ‘I’m the only one with a key,’ he said in a quiet voice.

  ‘Apparently the principal has one, too.’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s true. I forgot about that.’

  ‘You forgot about that too,’ Yngve said with a sigh. ‘Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to tell me, Tic-Tac?’

  He thought about that for a few seconds. ‘I left my door open last night.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, Imo asked me to.’

  ‘Imo. You mean Ivar Morten Tollefsen?’

  ‘That’s right. He said there might be a lot to do after the show, and he didn’t want to trigger the alarm when he left. You know, standing ovations, people to talk to afterwards. The local press, even. I said it was OK, as long as he didn’t spread the word. Imo is a good man. I’ve known him for twenty-odd years. I trust him.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just give him your key?’

  ‘Like I said, I knew I had an early start. I would be needing my own key to get in, as the doors don’t open before seven-thirty a.m.’

  One of the kids outside cupped his face and tried to look in. Steam from his breath hit the glass.

  ‘Just … stay here for now,’ Yngve said. ‘Guard the door. I’ll get someone to take your place in a little while. We need to talk some more later.’

  ‘OK.’

  Back by the staircase Yngve stopped in front of Vibeke Hanstveit, just as she was finishing her phone call.

  ‘Can you ask some of the nearby districts to spare us some hands?’ he asked. ‘We probably have to conduct hundreds of interviews over the next few days.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Hanstveit replied.

  ‘Good. Thanks. As many as we can get.’

  Hansveit was already dialling.

  Yngve turned to Therese. ‘We have to talk to whoever was responsible for ticket sales to the show here last night. We need to find out exactly how many people were present.’

  Therese was squatting in front of Johannes Eklund’s body, but didn’t seem to be looking at anything specific. Yngve took a few steps closer.

  ‘OK,’ she finally said in a thin voice, without looking up at Yngve.

  He waited a few seconds. Then said, ‘Are you OK?’

  Therese got up and nodded, carefully at first, then with more and more force, as if trying to convince herself. She mindlessly stroked her belly, avoiding his gaze.

  ‘Let’s have a look upstairs,’ Yngve said. ‘There might be traces on the staircase, and our shoes are still wet. So be careful where you put your feet.’

  Therese nodded again.

  They slowly ascended the staircase, staying as close to the bannister as they could. The steps and walls were spotted with drops of blood.

  ‘Look.’ Therese pointed to the door at the end of the staircase, the small, red drop right next to the door handle.

  ‘He probably walked this way afterwards,’ she whispered. Yngve removed his coat and slowly pushed the door inwards with his elbow, making sure he didn’t touch the blood. He held the door open so Therese could enter, then found the light switch on the other side of the door. One by one the fluorescent lights in the corridor lit up.

  It was empty.

  They checked the classrooms and washrooms, all locked or empty. They reached the auditorium. The stage at the front was covered with a thick, dark-green carpet. In front of it, red plastic chairs were lined up in rows. Without saying anything, Yngve pointed to a door further in on the right.

  It was open.

  They approached it slowly and carefully, but their footsteps broadcast their every move. Yngve could now make out the sign on the door. It said MUSIC. He pointed to the handle and stopped in front of it. More blood. A congealed spot.

  He walked through the doorway.

  And stopped again.

  ‘Oh dear God,’ Therese said, as she came up beside him.

  On the floor in front of them was another dead body.

  4

  I woke abruptly, not sure what time it was or even if it was day or night. My head was spinning, pounding. I tried to remember when I had gone to bed, but I had trouble recalling what I’d done the previous night.

  Then it all came back to me.

  I’d been thinking about her, about what I’d like to do to her when I saw her. Who the hell breaks up with anyone by text and then goes into hiding for two days?

  Just the thought of Mari made my heart start to race, but not in a good way. Not excited. A strange sensation spread through my whole body, an uneasiness I really couldn’t explain. I wasn’t nauseous. I wasn’t nervous, either. I just felt … weird. Like my gut was doing somersaults or something.

  I got out of bed and checked the time. It was still early. I had time for a shower before breakfast. Neither the hot water nor a couple of knekkebrød with butter and goat’s cheese helped, though. It’s just the lack of sleep, I said to myself. That, or the crap food you always stuff down your throat.

  I went into the hall and started to get ready for school. I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered, yet again, what on earth I’d done to her. Had I said something? Done something? Was it something I should have done? Or did she simply not like me anymore?

  I ran my fingers through my hair and rubbed in some wax. Stepped back and looked at myself. I thought I looked pretty good. Six feet tall now. Not much fat on my body. I was pretty smart, too. Wouldn’t have any trouble finding another girl. Trouble was, I didn’t want another girl. I wanted her.

  In the mirror I saw movement behind me. My younger brother, Tobias, was padding down the stairs, hands in his pockets, joggers almost falling off. He’d changed so much over the past six months. He was almost as tall as me now, and I could tell that he had put on some muscle. He’d let his hair grow longer, too, and he sometimes put it in a man bun, like I did. Usually, though, he just stuffed it underneath a baseball cap, like he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much, to be honest, except maybe his online games.

  Tobias was not an easy person to get close to. Never had been. More than once I’d wondered whether he ever talked to anyone outside school. He was a speak-when-spoken-to kind of kid. It didn’t help that his face was always covered in acne, dark and red.

  ‘You don’t have much time if you’re going to get to school,’ I said, gesturing at the clock with my head.

  Tobias stopped at the bottom of the stairs but said nothing.

  I pulled on my waterproof trousers. It was pouring down outside – solid, hard rain.

  ‘Well, get a move on then,’ I said, trying not to sound like a nag. ‘School starts in half an hour.’

  Tobias didn’t answer. Just shuffled off into the kitchen. ‘There’s no milk left, by the way,’ I called after him. ‘Don’t think there’s any corn-flakes either. I can get some later.’

  ‘Awesome,’ he said, then closed the door behind him. For some stupid reason he had started to use that word a lot lately. Awesome. Like he meant the opposite. I wondered if he had any intention of going to school at all. Perhaps you should wait, I asked myself, just to make sure. Mum wouldn’t be around to check, or care, even. She was at Knut’s.

  Then I thought about Mari again. I wanted to see if I could catch her before the bell, so I could finally get her to talk to me. I decided to let Tobias be.

  It was a young girl, probably no more than sixteen years old. She was lying on her back, eyes wide open. The skin on her face was pale white, lips light
blue. She had dark-brown eyes and a small crack in her upper lip. The pink winter coat she was wearing had been opened, as if someone had tried to undress her.

  ‘I know who she is,’ Therese said almost soundlessly. ‘She came by the station the other day. Her name’s Mari Lindgren.’

  Yngve turned to Therese. ‘Why did she come to see you?’

  ‘Not me specifically. She just came by, asking questions about an old car accident. I think she was working on a story for the school newspaper.’

  Yngve turned to face the dead girl again. Her hair was neatly spread out across the floor. As if she was posing for a picture.

  ‘She has dark spots on her neck’, Therese said. ‘Perhaps someone strangled her.’

  Yngve wasn’t listening. For a brief moment it was Åse lying there, staring up at him. Just as she had one of the last times he had visited her at the hospital.

  I can’t do it, Åse.

  You have to. For me. Please.

  ‘This is going to get nasty.’

  ‘Hm?’

  Therese pointed at the dead girl.

  ‘Two murders in a school in this tiny little town? People will go crazy with fear unless we catch the bastard quickly.’

  Therese’s lips continued to move, but Yngve couldn’t make out the words they formed. He lifted his gaze from Therese’s face; because that’s where he saw her, standing against the wall. Åse was looking at him with those shiny, bright eyes that always made him feel like the most important person in the whole world. He blinked a few times. Then she was gone.

  5

  ‘Shall we check out the rest of the school?’ Therese asked.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘There are a few more classrooms we haven’t checked yet. On either side of the stage.’ She made a nodding motion with her head.

  ‘Oh,’ Yngve said. ‘Yes, of course.’

  She looked at him for a few seconds. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  They went down the corridor that led back from the right-hand side of the stage. The floor was covered in footprints and smudges of dirt. They walked past an empty can of Coca-Cola, a box of snus. Therese grabbed the handle of the first door they came to. Locked. Yngve tried the next one. Same. Therese tried the handle of the door at the end of the corridor.

  It was open.

  She looked at Yngve but didn’t open the door right away, as if afraid of what might be found on the other side. Yngve came up behind her, about to say ‘Let me enter first’, but Therese was already on her way inside.

  She flicked on the light switch.

  There was no one there, only four desks filled with office supplies, stationery, pens, coffee mugs. On a huge whiteboard were written the numbers 4/16, with a few keywords underneath: EDITORIAL; SCHOOL PLAY; EVEN TOLLEFSEN; CHRISTMAS PARTY; FEATURE STORY: PRINCIPAL BRAKSTAD.

  ‘This must be where they make the school newspaper,’ Therese said. ‘I wonder if one of these desks is Mari Lindgren’s.’

  A tapping sound made Yngve look around. One of the windows was open; it was gently knocking against the window frame. Therese pointed her finger towards yet another dark spot on the wall in the corner.

  More blood.

  ‘This must be where the killer left the building,’ she whispered and pointed through the window. ‘He probably wouldn’t dare leave through the main door downstairs.’

  ‘Yeah, too big a risk,’ Yngve said. ‘Too many possible witnesses. Plus there are surveillance cameras down there as well.’

  He pulled his dry shirt sleeve from under his coat sleeve and used it to open the window fully. The wind and cold hit him in the face. Checking there were no marks, he carefully placed his hands on the windowsill then stuck his head out and looked upwards. He had to blink fast as the raindrops were hitting him hard. Right next to the window he noticed a drainpipe that reached all the way up to the gutter.

  He came back inside and said, ‘We have to get up there and see. It’s easier to get away unseen on the other side of the school. I think there’s a fire escape ladder up there, too.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll be lucky,’ Therese said. ‘Maybe he got stuck on something or lost something that will make it easier to identify him.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Yngve said, and began to climb onto the windowsill.

  Therese stopped him. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going up.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘Yes, I am. It will take ages before the forensic teams can do this. They aren’t even here yet. And the school is huge – several thousand square metres at least. The teams have to comb through every inch of it. We don’t have time to wait. It’s pouring outside – we might lose vital evidence.’

  He could tell that Therese was still unsure.

  ‘I’ll just take a quick look around and see if I can find anything before it gets flushed away,’ he said.

  She held back another protest as Yngve once more stuck his head out into the cold. The rain trickled down his neck and shoulders as he peered out. He looked down. A fifteen feet drop, at least. Below more and more students had arrived. The media was there too. Like cattle they had gathered around the perimeter tape.

  ‘Be careful,’ Therese pleaded behind him.

  Yngve pushed himself up onto the sill then leaned out and grabbed the black drainpipe with his hand, making sure he had a firm grip. He carefully placed his boot on a small bracket that held the drainpipe in place and made sure it held his weight. Then he kicked himself out with his left foot and clung on to the drainpipe with both hands. The freezing rain made them cold in an instant.

  Yngve pulled himself up a few inches and put his left boot on another bracket. As he was about to push himself up, the sole of his boot slipped, and for a split second Yngve thought he was going to fall to the ground. He managed to cling on, his knuckles going white. He could feel how heavy he had become, how little exercise he had been doing since Åse became ill.

  Therese called to him from the inside. ‘Come back in!’ she shouted. ‘Please.’

  Yngve looked down and blinked. The rain made his hands slippery. But he still had a firm grip on the drainpipe, and there were only six or seven more feet to the edge of the roof. He placed his boot on the bracket again but this time pushed his toes into it as hard as he could. And slowly, inch by inch, he was able to pull himself upwards. Soon he was able to reach the gutter. He stretched out and got a good grip of it. Then he slung one leg onto the roof, and with a final effort made it up safely.

  Vapour was pouring out of his mouth. What the hell are you doing? You’re sixty-three years old. Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack?

  ‘I’m breathing,’ he said out loud. ‘Trying to, at least.’

  No one could hear him up here in the noisy rain. Wet and cold, Yngve glanced around. Below one of the ambulances still had its blue lights on. They danced on the school walls, on the trees around the building. Yngve knew that his uniform jacket had reflective strips that shone in the dark, that he probably looked like a skeleton silhouette up here. But then it occurred to him that not just anyone could do what he’d just done. Certainly, it wasn’t a fine display of strength and agility, but you needed a bit of both to be able to get up on a roof like that.

  The roof itself was almost flat, which made moving around easy. The surface was covered with gravel. In the dim morning light Yngve could see it was littered with pine needles and dead branches, brought here by the wind.

  He paused for a moment, trying to think like the killer. He or she must have been preoccupied with getting away without being detected.

  Taking small, careful steps, Yngve made it over to the other side of the roof. He couldn’t see any houses nearby that had windows facing the school; there were only trees, an open field of grass, then another cluster of trees. Behind that was a kindergarten, which Yngve knew hadn’t been open last night. The chances of anyone having seen anything, at least o
n this side of the school, were slim.

  Yngve walked as close to the gutter as he dared, trying to wipe away some of the water that was streaming down his face. At the far end of the roof there was a fire-escape ladder. He walked over to it, knelt down, leaned over the edge and stared at the ground below. A white van was parked close to the wall. The janitor’s vehicle, probably. There was only room for one car. Yngve tried to imagine which direction the perpetrator would have taken. There were several possible escape routes. But if the killer had had blood on him, Yngve thought, after the fight with Johannes Eklund, which was most likely, he would have tried to get rid of his clothes as quickly as possible. Outdoors, preferably. Underneath a cluster of trees, perhaps.

  Yngve’s eyes searched the area and stopped at a red object that seemed to be stuck to a nearby branch. A piece of fabric, maybe. He decided to climb down to get a closer look. The ladder was slippery and cold against his fingers. Finally on the ground, he made for the object he’d seen from the roof. On closer inspection it turned out to be a piece of rubber from a broken balloon. Yngve cursed under his breath. He couldn’t see any footprints on the ground, either, no sign to show the killer had stood here to undress. Maybe he just removed his jacket, Yngve reasoned. Or maybe he had managed to sneak his way home, wearing his bloodied clothes, without being seen. It had been raining heavily the previous night. And it had been dark.

  Yngve walked over to the white van, examining it more closely. It was, indeed, parked on a spot marked JANITOR. He peeked inside. It was filled with empty soda cans and rubbish. No traces of blood.

  Yngve glanced at the windowless door right next to the parking space. He tried it, only to find it locked. He thought about Tic-Tac for a brief second, then returned to the other side of the building, where he was once again bombarded with questions from reporters, pupils and staff. Yngve ‘no-commented’ his way back inside.

  At the main entrance Vibeke Hanstveit met him with a quizzical gaze. As Yngve explained what he had done, deep furrows scored her forehead.